DIY History | Transcribe | Hevelin Fanzines | Phantagraph, v. 8, issue 5, whole no. 34, March 1941

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Phantagraph, v. 8, issue 5, whole no. 34, March 1941

Page 6

6    THE PHANTAGRAPH     March

itself had character. It was a character; it was a story. Perhaps not a first-rate tale, but still a story. This something happens to be a young story, one bit inexperienced, yet still hopeful.
Being young, it was simple. Hence it had but the very shady of a plot. The question was: would it be written, or would it give up the struggle? It determined to fight the matter out: it would be written. True, it did not have much to say, but then, what is there left unsaid that would be worth saying? Yes, there [underlined] is something in the writers' claim of "writing for its own sake." So it insists on being; existence would not deny it. The plot must seek its own way; perhaps it would take on an existence of its own. But then, plots are passe anyway in the best of circles. And, if there must be indeed a story, let it be one of quality, let there be nothing hack about it.

THE STORY, already deep in itself, determined to show off what it really could do by way of carrying on interest, determined further to pad itself a bit more. (All good stories pad themselves in these parlous times.) It determined further to put into effect that old phrase: [next sentence underlined] "Ni a thryser yn y nef; wrth fwynhau ei fywyd Ef." Which, as easily can be recognized, is a quotation from Parlwr, the Welsh bard. Of course, no one but a Welshman could understand that, but local [color?] is always necessary; morover we can not overlook translation rights.
As all tales have climaxes, so must this. But what could it do? What should it do? Should it continue for several pages more, or should it die suddenly? Should it end gracefully or unhappily? Tragedy? Comedy? Pathos? The story wrangled with itself, it's mind in a turmoil. What to do; how to do it? Ah, the agony of indecision! The stress and strain of this crucial

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6 THE PHANTAGRAPH March itself had character. It was a character; it was a story. Perhaps not a first-rate tale, but still a story. This something happens to be a young story, one bit inexperienced, yet still hopeful. Being young, it was simple. Hence it had but the very shady of a plot. The question was: would it be written, or would it give up the struggle? It determined to fight the matter out: it would be written. True, it did not have much to say, but then, what is there left unsaid that would be worth saying? Yes, there [underlined] is something in the writers' claim of "writing for its own sake." So it insists on being; existence would not deny it. The plot must seek its own way; perhaps it would take on an existence of its own. But then, plots are passe anyway in the best of circles. And, if there must be indeed a story, let it be one of quality, let there be nothing hack about it. THE STORY, already deep in itself, determined to show off what it really could do by way of carrying on interest, determined further to pad itself a bit more. (All good stories pad themselves in these parlous times.) It determined further to put into effect that old phrase: [next sentence underlined] "Ni a thryser yn y nef; wrth fwynhau ei fywyd Ef." Which, as easily can be recognized, is a quotation from Parlwr, the Welsh bard. Of course, no one but a Welshman could understand that, but local [color?] is always necessary; morover we can not overlook translation rights. As all tales have climaxes, so must this. But what could it do? What should it do? Should it continue for several pages more, or should it die suddenly? Should it end gracefully or unhappily? Tragedy? Comedy? Pathos? The story wrangled with itself, it's mind in a turmoil. What to do; how to do it? Ah, the agony of indecision! The stress and strain of this crucial